


Grimm Incitement

by VictorianBlues



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Blood and Gore, Drama, Gen, Mild Language, Post-War, Pre-Canon, Sexual Themes, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictorianBlues/pseuds/VictorianBlues
Summary: The Great War has ended. The four kingdoms have settled into a new era peace as Remnant slowly recovers. But even with the newly established Huntsmen to protect the world, all is not well. An ancient evil has begun to stir, the Creatures of Grimm, having fed off the turmoil of the past decade, have become increasingly prevalent. Now a makeshift team of Huntsmen, formed by happenstance, has begun to hear whispers of a horrible new Grimm species located in a remote region of the world. Chased by their pasts and blind to the future, the Huntsmen may very well stumble into a battle far older than anyone realized.





	1. Silver

Four years have passed since the Great War came to an end after ten years of conflict. In its decade long span, the four kingdoms often found themselves creating temporary ceasefires just long enough to eliminate the one true enemy of all humanity: The Creatures of Grimm. The horrors of war had allowed anger and fear, hatred and sorrow to fester both at home and on the battlefield causing Grimm activity to increase globally – and with most of humanity’s able-bodied warriors conscripted – left civilization vulnerable to attack. More settlements fell to Grimm attack every day throughout the war and, by the time peace was brokered, the four kingdoms had lost territory and gained none. In the end, the conflict that had started because the kingdoms of Mantle and Mistral were willing to do anything to suppress the Grimm, only managed to further unleash them on Remnant’s population.  
Such fact did not go unnoticed by the Warrior King of Vale, who headed the peace conference on Vytal. Concerned with the growing Grimm activity and with each kingdom’s strained manpower, the Warrior King created the Huntsman Academies as part of the Vytal peace treaty. These academies would train and educated its students in the ways of combat so that they could protect the future generations of Remnant from further Grimm assault. Four academies were established: Beacon Academy in Vale, Haven Academy in Mistral, Atlas Academy in Mantle, and Shade Academy in Vacuo. While they each resided within a kingdom, all four academies functioned as independent entities where their staff and students held no loyalties to the governing state. As a final term to the treaty, the signatories agreed to a peace festival designed to bring the four kingdoms together. This Vytal festival, held every two years, would come to include a tournament where huntsman and huntresses from the four academies could test their combat prowess against each other in friendly competition. 

The crowd was anxious. As the fight dragged on and the timer counted down, the tension within the Vytal Tournament’s coliseum continued to increase; both contestants’ Aura levels remained around fifty percent and many of the onlookers feared a draw. Even the commentators – though experienced from working on the Mistral Regional Tournament – had remained silent longer than what would be considered professional. As the match timer continued to draw closer to zero, the male commentator finally spoke:  
“Forty-five seconds left… And Glauce Argirakos can still not land a hit on his opponent, Miss Jay.” Viridesa ran. Using her speed semblance, the green haired girl defied gravity as she sprinted along the stone wall of the arena. Trailing behind her were the rapid-fire impacts of bullets from Glauce’s light machine gun. The silver haired boy stood closer to the center of the arena, his body turning to follow his fast-moving opponent in an effort of eventually hitting her – a task more easily said than done. The two contestants had been at this far longer than Glauce enjoyed and was sure that this Viridesa girl was simply trying to make a mockery of him by her continuous running in circles. He had tried to lead his target of course, but she proved to be too fast, he had switched to ice Dust bullets hoping to eventually freeze her, but now with time running out he needed another strategy. Someway to get Viridesa to stop running.  
“Thirty seconds remaining, if either contestant hopes to win, they really must make a move now.” This was his only chance and Glauce knew he had to make his move: ceasing fire the silver haired boy moved his hand up towards the pan magazine of his gun, his blue eyes however, never left his opponent. Noticing a change in the fight the female co-commentator chimed in:  
“It looks like Mister Argirakos is having to reload! This could be an opening, we will see if his opponent capitalizes on it.” Viridesa turned her attention to her opponent, readied her twin daggers and ran off the wall towards Glauce.  
“About time you ran out,” Viridesa smiled and Glauce smirked back. She had taken the bait, and as she dashed straight at him, Glauce quickly lowered his hand and raised his weapon to open fire. The arena went quiet at the sound of gun fire. The ice dust hit his target, freezing Viridesa solid, and now with the green haired girl immobilized he quickly grabbed another magazine off his belt and switched back to standard rounds – firing again. The ice shattered, her Aura depleted past the mark, the buzzer rang. The crowd burst into cheers at his victory.  
“That’s it! Glauce Argirakos has defeated Viridesa Jay of Shade Academy!”  
“And not a moment too soon, Li,” the female commentator turned to her male co-commentator. “With this victory, Mister Argirakos will now move on to the final match of the tournament. So, stay tuned folks, for it is certainly going to be an exciting one.”

Glauce walked back through the entrance tunnel of the arena, wiping sweat from his forehead while his weapon, Entolí, hung from his back. He had won the semifinals and, though he still had one match to go, he could not help but be filled with relief; his teammates would be happy with him, but more importantly his partner, Betony, would be as well. Gaining her commendation was not an easy task, but one that Glauce found himself wanting more of as their time together went on. Returning Entolí to the locker room, Glauce’s thoughts of praise were interrupted by the very teammates in question.  
“Good job out there, Argirakos,” Glauce’s teammate Eira said as she stood next to the row of lockers alongside her brother who had his arm over her shoulder. “Ignus agrees” _._  
“As my sister says, _I’m_ impressed. I thought for sure you were about to whiff the entire tournament for us,” even in praise, Ignus still had to find a way to demean him – it was nothing new. In the four years that they had known each other, the twins had never become his friends, and though Eira was often nicer than Ignus, it was clear that neither thought much of him. Still, they were a team – the best in Haven – and friendship was not required for that to be true.  
“And he’s not the only one,” Eira chimed in as she turned and pointed towards team BEIG’s leader. Betony approached her partner with a small smile, her dark purple hair hung past her shoulders and, like the twins, she wore the black and white uniform of Haven Academy. Glauce could not help but smile back, which drew a small smirk and snicker from Eira.  
“Congratulations,” Glauce’s chest tightened with a pleasant embarrassment at his leader’s words but he did not receive a chance to respond before she continued into business – “It was a smart enough play there at the end, but we do need to review some performance issues and, of course, we must discuss the coming match and your opponent.” That is how Betony always was, but he did not mind, it was part of the reason team BEIG was the best – her professionalism and her strategic mind always lead them to victory. Glauce’s thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by the familiar sound of a cane aided walk. His father had arrived.  
Thad Argirakos was a man of great stature, both in height and in wealth, and he struck a stiff visage compared to the more approachable appearance of his wife who stood next to him. It was a feeling recognized even by the rest of team BEIG, and so as the grey-haired patriarch turned to regard them, Betony, Ignus, and Eira respectfully took their leave to give the Argirakos family their privacy. Glauce’s eyes meet his parents’ – his mother still had that same smile she always did, even when it seemed out of place or unnecessary. In contrast, his father’s smile was small – lips thinning just past a smirk, which was a facial occurrence not often seen by those outside of the family. The silent moment between the three did not last long before Tanya Argirakos opened her arms expectantly towards her son – a gesture all too common for him. Glauce hesitated briefly before awkwardly moving into her embrace.  
“I’m _so_ proud of you.”  
“Thank you, Mother,” he spoke before being freed from his mother’s hug. She beamed at him more before Glauce turned to his father, waiting to hear his thoughts which luckily would not include any hugging.  
“Well done son,” Thad nodded in approval, and that was all that was required. With his father proud of him, his teammates – especially Betony – proud of him, and his mother proud of him too – although she was always proud of him – Glauce was now so close to success. His parents conversed with him only briefly as to not keep their child away from more pressing matters. Glauce had only a short time before the final match and it would be better spent attending his partner’s strategy meeting.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the first ever Vytal Festival Tournament! The moment we have all been waiting for is finally here: It’s the grand finale! The last match which will determine the winner of the tournament!”  
“Not just any winner, Dia, but a champion amongst all other Huntsmen. Whomever of our finalists win here today, will no doubt be remembered as the first, _the original_ , _the best_ Huntsmen of a generation!” Li spoke from the commentator’s box alongside Dia as they began hyping up the crowd for the coming fight.  
“Well spoken, Li. But enough from us, I think it’s time to introduce our competitors,” her partner nodded along as she spoke. “In the gold gate, we have the leader of team APLE, _Akash Rakesh_ from Beacon Academy!” Akash walked out of the so called “gold gate”, and though his green cowl with a side cape kept his face mysterious, he gave friendly waves to the cheering crowd.  
“And in the silver gate, we have from our home academy of Haven, member of team BEIG, _Glauce Argirakos_!” Glauce entered the arena, the large form of Entolí hanging from its shoulder strap. Unable to resist the crowd, he gave a few waves before taking his spot across from his opponent; with both huntsmen-in-training in position, the timer counted down from three and the starting buzzer rang. Immediately, Glauce lunged forward with his light machinegun, the weapon’s bipod extending into a bayonet. His opponent quickly unfolded one of his two fans and parried the attack by catching the blade.  
“So then, melee will it be?” Akash inquired, some what surprised by the ranged fighter’s choice.  
“No, but thanks for the catch,” before Akash could respond the trigger was pulled and a barrage of bullets fired from Entolí, straight into his face. The cowled huntsman tumbled backwards, his body skidding along the ground before he could recover. Glauce smirked cockily as his opening move played out perfectly; now he just needed to keep momentum and the fight would be his. Ignoring the obvious opening, Glauce ran forward once again to close the distance on his opponent. Akash responded by throwing one of his fans, the bladed edge spinning through the air towards Glauce who made no effort to dodge the attack. As calculated by Betony, he could afford to take five such hits before he needed to actively defend his Aura; until then it was better for him to focus entirely on the offensive which was exactly what he planned to do. And so, the fan sliced into his shoulder, his Aura protecting him from harm, before being immediately reflected back towards its wielder.  
“An interesting choice by Mr. Argirakos to completely ignore Akash’s attack, that puts him at a disadvantage on the Aura meter.”  
“Indeed it does Dia, but at the same time what a great showcase Glauce’s Semblance; which for those who don’t know, it causes anything that impacts his Aura to be reflected back along the same trajectory.” Akash’s weapon did just that as Li spoke – reflecting off Glauce and returning to his hand. The space between the two huntsmen reached optimal separation and Glauce swung Entolí in a feint attack. His opponent fell for the trap, giving the silver haired Mistrali the opening to unleash another barrage towards Akash; the bullets hit their mark briefly before Akash’s second fan expanded into a shield – protecting him from further harm. He began to circle Glauce, throwing his remaining fan towards him, which Glauce once again allowed to make contact as he opted instead to continue firing Entolí.  
The fighting continued: Glauce took hits to allow himself more time to retaliate; the few times he tried to engage in melee, Akash would keep his distance seemingly preferring to fight a battle of attrition. Eventually the fifth hit would land into Glauce’s Aura, knocking the scoreboard meter just a small percentage from the red. Akash’s own Aura meter was in the yellow but still in the lead – it was time for something new. Glauce recalled what his partner told him: that the shield of his Valean opponent would prove the biggest challenge to him claiming victory, but that the quickest way to reduce Akash’s defense would be to deploy explosive rounds. That did, however, mean he would have to take a moment to switch magazines – it was a risk, but the alternative meant guaranteed defeat. Entolí’s wielder released its cylindrical form to lean against the ground while he quickly removed the gun’s current pan only to toss it to the ground – every second counted. The cease fire did not go unnoticed by Akash, who grinned at the free opening his opponent gave him and flung both his fans. The bladed disks spun towards Glauce in an arc. Both huntsmen were ready to end the battle. Entolí was reloaded with a new magazine – its ammo type indicated by the orange dust symbol – just in time for Glauce to dodge roll out of the incoming attack, causing the two fans to collide behind him and clatter to the ground. Now given his own opening, Glauce pulled the trigger and the first of many bullets shot out; Akash was sent reeling from the explosive force of impact only to disappear behind the fire and smoke. Glauce waited for the sweet sound of the buzzer declaring his victory but it never came. Instead, he felt the impact of a sharp disk digging into his back and that’s when he remembered Akash’s Semblance. The buzzer rang.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen the winner of the first bi-annual Vytal Festival is… Akash Rakesh of Vale!” The cheering of the arena’s crowd nearly drowned out the announcer’s voice as the moment that the buzzer indicated that Glauce had hit the fifteen percent mark they began their uproar. For the huntsman in second place, however, Glauce was on his knees, his ears deaf to the sounds of the arena. He had failed – himself and his team. And now his mind raced with the mistakes he had made during the fight: _how could he have been so stupid?_ _How could he have forgotten that Valean’s Semblance?_ Betony had made sure that he was readily prepared for the match, she had taught him everything he needed to know about his opponent, but now all that effort was put to waste. Glauce kneeled there in the arena, Entolí laid before him, unable or not wishing to move – _how was he to face his team, to face Betony? He was supposed to have won!_ His team was supposed to have been the best, now though, Team BEIG would forever be remembered as just the runner up.  
His thoughts of self-loathing were interrupted by the call of his name – stood before him was Akash, his hand out stretched with a, no doubt, smug smile on his face. He must be taking pity to try and look good for the crowd, Glauce thought to himself. Not wanting to embarrass himself further by being a sore loser, Glauce accepted Akash’s help standing and hoisted Entolí along with him. They shared brief pleasantries, Akash complementing him, but Glauce was ready to leave – this tournament had nothing left for him now.

“You _really_ blew it, Argirakos,” Eira spat immediately upon his return to their dorm. His team had already returned to Haven ahead of him– the lonesome walk of shame out of the tournament grounds only made everything feel even worse. Now Eira sat on the bed with her brother, both visible displeased with him. It was fair of them to be, they had both trusted him to bring victory and, as Eira said, he blew it.  
“He really did, _didn’t he_?” Ignus asked rhetorically while he petted his twin’s similarly auburn hair. “Why Betony ever trusted him, I’ll never fucking know.”  
“Speaking of, she wants to speak with you, and she doesn’t seem happy,” Eira added teasingly. Glauce did not speak with them, he simply paused long enough for them to say their words and then he kept moving. He knew his team leader would want to speak, and he knew she would disappointed. Wasting no time, he continued into their small side room where Betony awaited.  
The leader of team BEIG sat in her school uniform, one leg draped over the other. Her glassed face did not give away much to the person who was squirming under her unspoken ire. Glauce sat across from her, having not said a word since entering as he was unsure where to begin. And so, the two fourth year partners sat in silence until Betony took the initiative as she always did:  
“You are off the team,” she was succinct and unafraid as always. Glauce, for his part, felt his stomach sink and his heart burn – he truly had failed her. This was not just disappointment as he had expected – hoped even – this was her anger. To outsiders it may not have seemed that way – sounding more like a brazen declaration said in the heat of the moment just without the heat – but Glauce knew her long enough to understand the truth. It crushed him.  
“W-what…?” He tried to speak but was at a loss for words.  
“I do not believe I stuttered,” she paused to see if her failure of a partner gained back his tongue, but he had not. “As I said, you are off the team. Now I understand we are too close to graduation to ask the headmaster for a team change, so you may stay until then. But once graduation has passed, you are to take your leave. _Is that understood?_ ”  
“…yes…” Glauce nodded.  
“Good, then that will be all.” Betony gestured towards the door indicating that the conversation was over and that it was time for Glauce to leave. Glauce slowly left the room, walked past the giggling twins, and exited the dorm… What was he to do now?


	2. Brown and White

Three years have passed since the Great War came to an end after ten years of conflict. In its decade long span it tore Remnant apart and killed countless, becoming the largest war ever fought. While the war began from the tension between settlers from Vale and Mistral, who both had moved to claim the same land, the Great War had not been fought for territory and resources, but for the defense of individualism, something the losers had sought to oppress. The Kingdom of Mantle, located on Solitas, the northern continent of ice and snow, had fought the war alongside its ally, the Kingdom of Mistral. Though Mantle had conceived the idea to ban self-expression out of fear of the Grimm, it had been Mistral to call them to arms against Vale. In the end, even with their advance technologies and expertise in Dust application, the Kingdom of Mantle lost the war to the combined might of Vale and Vacuo.  
In the aftermath of the conflict a new world order had been formed: Governments were restructured, slavery abolished, and the faunus – who had helped with the war effort on both sides – were given equal rights as well as governance over the island of Menagerie. Mantle, in a sign of good faith, threw in an extra reparation by creating the Cross Continental Transmit System (CCTS) which would allow the citizens of all four kingdoms to easily communicate with one another. In the years since the Great War, much of the land in Solitas has continued to be exploited and mined for Dust, causing many of the kingdom’s towns to house processing factories or research facilities. One such town is Valun, a small mining community located deep in the frozen taiga and often isolated from the rest of Mantle.

Dusk had fallen over the town of Valun, the light from the setting sun becoming obscured by the dense forest of evergreens to the west of the town; just a short time before the sun began its descent across the sky, ready to cast Remnant into darkness, a fresh snowfall began its own descent to add an extra layer to the already covered ground. The town’s streets were quiet for most its inhabitants had already settled in for the night, leaving the only sounds to be heard were those from Valun’s only bar. The unnamed establishment served as respite for the town’s miners, who would go there every night to relax with good drink and company after a long day’s work in the mountains east of Valun. However, tonight the sounds being emitted through the wooden walls were not ones of joyous raucous, but rather harsh dissonance caused by the angry voices of the bar’s patrons. The door to the building flew open in haste and two figures emerged: the woman, who wore a brown cloak over her body and held its hood tightly over her head, moved quick for the street; while the man, who wore a white cloak, backed out more slowly with his hands up in cautious defiance to the cruel shouts that now more easily leaked into the quiet streets. The bar’s owner followed after the two, stopping his pursuit in the opened doorway.  
“We don’t serve _her kind_ here, so stay out and never come back!” The owner, who was a balding man wearing a vest and tie – and was small in stature when compared to the cloaked man – shouted. The two figures now stood in the street’s center: the man, Emeric, with his slightly unkempt black-greying hair and a beard of the same, replied with equal anger.  
“You can’t treat them like this, they have equal rights now!” Emeric yelled in an accent thick even for fellow Mantleans.  
“Yeah? Tell someone who gives a damn!” The bar owner replied, waving his hand dismissively before slamming the door shut. With an exasperated sigh, Emeric turned his attention towards his female companion and rested his hand upon her shoulder as a gesture of comfort; Emeric considered her brown eyes, now red and puffy from held back tears, with his one uncovered eye, a dull blue, and spoke:  
“Ignore their words, Little Bear…Come, let us make camp elsewhere,” he turned and began his walk towards the edge of town. Russella, or “Little Bear” as Emeric often called her, wiped a fallen tear off her face with the edge of her cloak before following close behind the large man. The size difference between the two was often noticeable: Russella, standing barely at Emeric’s chest, would be considered lithe but average for her age at seventeen, Emeric however, was a large and burly man of his late-forties. This contrast of physical presence worked well for Russella, whose meek nature and faunus existence often caused her to “hide” using Emeric’s body; hidden from people more mentally then physically since strangers tended to focus on the figure in armor who wielded a bare sword than the unassuming woman next to him.

They made camp by a lone tree just outside of town; the fire Emeric made and the cloaks they wore would help to keep them warm, but once they turned in for the night experience taught the two travelers that they would best sleep close to share body heat. This was not the first time either of them spent a night in the elements nor did either expect tonight to be their last. Traveling together as mercenaries who sought work wherever it could be found, they spent plenty of time on the road guarding against the forces of nature and, both having been born in the land of Solitas, had found themselves acclimated to the cold long ago. For now, they sat in silence as they stared at the fire’s dancing flames, neither quite sure how to broach a conversation with the uncomfortable mood. This occurrence was all too common, much to Russella’s chagrin as she once again brought trouble for Emeric – it was unfair for him. If only she could be assertive, if only she could speak up, find her voice, and defend herself – he would not have to protect her so much. She wiped another tear from her eyes, then looked at his aging face, it looked uncaring like always. What if he resented taking her in at the behest of her late parents?  
Emeric sat to the right of Russella, his greatsword, Dyrnwyn, resting in his lap. Though its form was never covered by a sheath, the blade remained sharp and clean, a testament to its well-maintained existence. The cloaked, Mantlean man’s body was protected in a combination of plate and chain mail armor: the chain remained their metal grey color, while the plate was worn to a dull white. From his greying hair, to his eyepatch, to the minor scratches on his cuirass, Emeric gave the appearance of a man who has seen much and done more. But even with his age there were some experiences still new to him – such as raising another person. Digging through a rucksack, he pulled out a few pieces of jerky kept for their travels on the road, but after being unable to finish their meals at the tavern, hunger called to him and he could always buy more before leaving Valun in the morning. In a polite gesture, Emeric offered his faunus companion jerky, but she declined with a “No thank you”, he understood, after what had happened Russella had no doubt lost her appetite, it would not be the first time for her. Emeric never knew what to say to her in times like these – how could he? He could never truly understand the discrimination she faced. He had tried his best, of course, by offering advice in hope to temper her but it never seemed to work. Still Emeric did understand one thing: if she was to live a peaceful life, they _needed_ to leave Mantle. Many people in the kingdom still treated faunus with disdain – unwilling to move away from the days when the faunus were inferior and exploitable. That is why they were here making way to leave the kingdom for a home somewhere people would treat her like a person. Originally, he had suggested that they could travel to Menagerie, but Russella was hesitant, believing that the newly created faunus country would be unwilling to let a human live amongst them. Instead they settled for Vale: the prime victor in the Great War and no doubt a place where Russella’s kind would be more welcomed.  
The silence and Emeric’s thoughts were interrupted as a howl echoed through the cold night air, followed soon after by many more. Russella turned to Emeric expectantly with an unspoken question in her eyes.  
“Beowolves... No doubt drawn from the incident earlier…” Emeric spoke as he stood up from his seated position. “Come, we cannot let them in town,” he continued as he made way towards the coming howls. Standing, Russella’s cloak opened allowing her leather hide corset and black tunic to feel the chilling embrace of the Solitas air, and she reached an armored gauntleted hand up to adjust the metal gorget around her neck. She hesitated: she knew there was no option, Emeric expected her to follow him, but a part of her looked back at the sleepy town and wondered if such people deserved their help? They had harassed her, ridiculed her, were racist in all regards, threatening violent acts and yet now she was expected to protect _them_? Russella was ashamed by this resentment, hated it just as she hated her timidness. These emotions whirl-pooled within her heart and brought butterflies to her stomach. She needed to steel herself – _What would Emeric say?_ Russella shook away the dreadful thoughts. She knew she had to be better than them, it was what Emeric had always taught her. Taking a deep breath to relax her nerves, Russella’s physical form began to change: In an instant, faster than the blink of an eye a large grizzly bear now stood where the woman once did. The only sign showing that the bear and the girl were one in the same, were the pair of armored gauntlets around the grizzly’s forearms and the armored gorget around its neck. Now ready to take on the coming enemies, Russella trotted through the snow-covered ground to catchup with Emeric.  
The Beowolves were on them soon thereafter: a dozen or more raced out of the western woods with bestial fury, intent on destroying the unsuspecting town and killing all its inhabitants. Their bone masks snarled upon noticing Emeric and a bear standing in their way, but their shadowy forms made no effort to stop as they would kill this human and his pet, then quickly move onward. Once the Grimm had breached the forest’s edge, Emeric raised his greatsword and inserted a Burn Dust crystal into Dyrnwyn’s hilt and – with an attached secondary handle acting as a bolt-action – ignited the blade with fire. Russella prepared, as well, activating her twin weapons, Tooth and Nail: metallic claws extended from her gauntlets to encase her bear claws, while metallic fangs extending from her gorget covered her jaw.  
Readied – the two mercenaries charged to meet the wolf-like Grimm head-on. With an upwards swing, Emeric instantly cleaved in half a Beowolf that advanced ahead of its pack. Its body began to evaporate into smoke as two more took its place. Meanwhile, Russella engaged with two Beowolves in battle: The first she forced aside with a swipe of her paw before slamming into the second and ending its soulless existence with a bite through the neck. The one thrown aside did not remain dazed for long before leaping upon her bear-form back – Russella’s aura protecting her from the incoming damage. She succeeded in shaking off the Grimm by rearing back onto her hind legs before smashing down into its prone form and mauling it with her armored claws. Emeric continued to make quick work of the enemies, his experience and skill allowing him to kill the “weaker” Beowolves with ease. Upon finishing off his fifth Grimm, its body freshly dissolving, Emeric noticed that a few had decided to ignore the two defenders and instead continue onwards towards the town.  
“Russella, quick, go after them!” he pointed towards the escaping Beowolves. “I’ll take care of rest.” Russella let out a grizzly roar in agreeance and she made chase, while Emeric turned his attention back to his opponents who circled him – their bone masks snapping with vicious intent. One made a lunge forward, but the older veteran easily ran it through with his blade, Dyrnwyn. The way these Grimm fought, and their average size showed that they were young and inexperienced, no match for a man who had fought against their kind many times before. Three more remained before him, their hesitance to strike impulsively showed their ability to learn quickly; Emeric waited as well with sword poised at the ready, its flaming blade illuminating the surrounding night with brilliant light. As expected, the bestial instincts took over the young Grimm and the two charged at Emeric’s armored form, most likely believing that a dual attack would increase their odds of victory. Bringing his greatsword back, he swung in a wide arc making contact with one Beowolf and then the other, sending both flying into the tree-line. The veteran warrior pressed his attack launching into an offensive against the final Beowolf before him. With two easy swings he slew the beast and turned to take witness of Russella’s progress before being tackled from behind. One of the thrown Beowolves had lived. The creature of Grimm ravaged his back, but his Aura kept him from harm. Dyrnwyn had been knocked out of reach and Emeric struggled to turn over or to upright himself; as his Aura shimmered white with damage, the prone man heard a familiar roar and the creature’s weight was knocked off him. Russella had returned: saving her guardian from the Beowolf and ending its existence.  
“Thank you, Little Bear,” the older man fondly thanked his bearish companion for helping him. The grizzly replied with a grunt as the final Grimm of the pack evaporated into smoke, in the dark and snowy night. The night did not return to peace and quiet however, for advancing from within the town came a contingent of townsfolk and guards carrying weapons and tools. It seemed they had mustered a defense force for the town after learning of the approaching Grimm, but they realized that they were too late for the threat had already been vanquished. As the men and women of the town approached their saviors, whom they had previously ostracized, they wore faces of stunned humbleness and regret. Russella deactivated her semblance, reverting to her “human” form with the hood of her cloak falling off her head and revealing to the gathered people the pair of brown bear ears that they so hated.  
“You killed them…All of them,” a man from the gathering spoke in awe.  
“Just the two of you managed all that….” The bar owner from early mumbled as he rest a makeshift club in his hand. “…. How?”  
“The war taught many things,“ Emeric replied while Russella turned away to hide her ears from the staring townsfolk. A thick silence filled the night with no one quite sure on what to say, before Emeric spoke again: “Your town is safe, next time be more inviting with guests.”  
“W-we will…” another in the crowd responded.  
“Good…Well come, Little Bear, we’ve long day ahead of us. Best to get some rest,” Emeric abruptly finished with the gathered of Valun and gestured for Russella to follow him back to their camp. Tomorrow they made for Vale.


	3. Purple

Six years have passed since the Great War came to an end after ten years of conflict. In its decade long span, generals and Grimm were not the only predators feasting on the defenseless. The opportunistic and the unscrupulous had almost free reign within the kingdoms’ cities as the resources to stop them became strained by the war effort. Organized crime levels escalated within Vale, Mantle, and Mistral as gangsters expanded their territory and exploited the desperate through extortion and protection rackets. Even after the war ended, efforts to curb such activities remained largely ineffective as the advent of the CCTS allowed gang members to operate more efficiently; the largest factor to their success, however, was the employment of former soldiers and even the newly established Huntsmen. Not everyone who received their Huntsmen license were interested in being humanity’s protectors and many realized that their skills in combat offered them plenty of lucrative business opportunities working for these criminal syndicates. Soon huntsmen found themselves fighting other huntsmen.  
The outskirts of civilization did not fare any better as bandits and pirates became free to pillage supply lines and distant villages. The bandit tribes, unlike their urbanized counterparts, have existed since the early days of humanity – most having refused to give up their antiquated ways. Now, while the Great War presented plenty of fresh opportunity, the growing Grimm activity has presented plenty of danger as well. Danger that may see their tribes destroyed if they refuse to adapt. For pirates, the war presented them work as privateers hunting enemy navies, while the intercontinental commerce brought upon by the unifying nature of the Vytal Treaty continued to allow their treasuries to grow rich with plunder. So rich that many former seamen have flocked to the black flag hoping to make new lives in the pirate colonies of Remnant’s southern ocean – the largest of which was known as Huetziz.  
But even with the Grimm attacks, even with the rampant crime, and even with so many casualties, humanity and the faunas did not allow themselves to succumb to despair. Instead, as a reaction to Mantle and Mistral’s former policies and to the threat of destruction, civilization entered a cultural renaissance. The Vytal Festival is one of the most explicit forms of this new appreciation for culture, but another tradition has taken a firmer hold on society. An ever-growing number of people have begun to participate in “Color Naming”, a tradition causing the generations since the war to be given names upon their births that are associated with or are defined by a color. If post-war society did not put such a large value on freedom and embrace the tradition so wholeheartedly, then some believe that color naming would have already become an enforced rule due to its prevalence.

The outer-Vale market bustled with activity, its streets filled with merchants from across Remnant – a stopping point before they entered the city proper. A light tapping of a finger against wood went unheard beneath the market’s noise; ash fell from the metal head as Teruhime cleaned her pipe of its residual tobacco. She was waiting for her quarry. It would be a simple enough job, the man was wanted dead or alive – she preferred her marks dead – and though the reward was average, it would be good for some quick lien. And so, she waited here, up against a market stall, for her quarry to come through as he was known to frequent such locations in order to solicit income.  
Teruhime tilted the straw hat she wore, as a man began to cross her path. His clothing was colorful and the large purple hat upon his head was struck with a feather. He was her quarry no doubt, based on the images she had received and the guitar on his back. Though his clothing was more flamboyant for her tastes – compared to the loose, drab kimono that hung off her body. Wasting no time, she made way to intercept.  
“Yat-sen Opaline?” She asked while blocking the man’s path. The man stopped upon seeing her actions, and people in the crowd around them stopped as well – the assertiveness in her voice, the way her left-hand rested in her weapon’s hilt, many of the market goers knew immediately what was about to transpire.  
“Yes?” Her quarry replied with a smile – that was all she needed. In a blink of an eye she was behind Yat-sen with her sword outstretched, but something was wrong. There was no feeling of impact from her sword against his stomach, and eyeing the blade confirmed that it was still dry. _Had she missed?_ That should have been impossible: her semblance should move her faster than anyone could react, and it always had enough power to break through even Aura. “That was certainly a good try,” the voice almost startled her. It had a mirth to it that was unfitting someone who had just been attacked. Teruhime quickly raised her katana and spun to face her mark. She glared upon seeing that he had indeed moved from his original spot. “Now there’s no need for a beautiful woman such as yourself to make such an unbecoming face. But tell me, who sent you? Was it Amarantha? She was always a feisty one,” he grinned with a look that hinted at just how “feisty” she was. Teruhime for her part was unamused, annoyed, and just a little confused; she had really wished he was dead, his body disemboweled on the ground, because now she was going to have to make an effort in fighting him.  
“How about instead of asking questions, you just shut-up and stand still?” She barked back – stance shifting to ready herself. Teruhime’s mind contemplated using her Single-stroke semblance once again but doing so could risk exhaustion. Instead, she would just have to fight using her skills in combat. She propelled her sword forward aiming to penetrate his flesh, only to be blocked as Yat-sen turned his guitar along its strap and used its body as a shield. Teruhime sneered as she tried for a second time – sweeping the katana low. The guitar strap unhooked with a click; now free from his body, Yat-sen held the instrument’s neck and deflected the incoming attack.  
“How much am I worth?” The two of them had disengaged from the fight, and though Teruhime stood ready, Yat-sen still did not seek physical engagement. Their scuffle had already drawn attention and to truly fight her out here would only draw more. He did not want that.  
_“Not enough.”_  
“So how about we put down our weapons and… I buy you a few drinks instead?” He smiled, though Teruhime could not recall if it ever left his face. She hesitated at his offer: This man was certainly capable, especially considering he somehow avoided her semblance. Was the lien really worth the effort? She relaxed with a sigh and sheathed her sword.  
“Sure, I could go for a drink.”

Teruhime’s hat hung behind her neck, having removed it upon entering the bar, leaving her tied up hair bared to the world. Yat-sen’s own black hair hung just at his neck, though he still wore that feathered hat. Her former quarry had kept her thirst for alcohol quenched as the evening sun began to set upon the capital, and with his pleasant enough company, she could not complain. Yat-sen regaled her with his many tales of travel, that were oft not perverse and fanciful – Teruhime found some to be as unbelievable as children’s fairy tales.  
“-and then Irvin catches his sister and I having sex together! You should have seen his face!” Yat-sen laughed. “I’ve never seen someone so crestfallen! He thought he and I were exclusive, you see? Well anyway, I invited him to join us and we had a threesome together. What night that was.” He sighed fondly at the memory while his drinking partner laughed with the aid of beer. Their conversation then quieted before Yat-sen offered her another mug – she hesitated for a moment. As tempting as it was to continue to drink all night, which she was more than capable of as long as he was paying, Teruhime knew she had other responsibilities to attend to. Other bounties to track down.  
“Well Yat-sen as much as I would love to, I really should get going,” she spoke up. “Now that I won’t be turning your ass in, I’ve gotta go see about finding another job.”  
“Aw, are you _sure_ you cannot stay for the night? I can still go get us a room,” he watched her begin to leave.  
“I already told you I’m not sleeping with you,” she rolled her eyes while adjusting her hat. He laughed again.  
“It was worth one final try,” he shrugged. “I hope to meet you again, miss Yasūra.” Teruhime nodded and departed the bar into the cool night air – leaving her former quarry to continuing drinking by himself. Which he did.

Yat-sen walked the dark street with a giddy step while his hands played a nameless tune on his guitar. He left behind the bar alone – much to his disappointment – and though it was not so late that only the unscrupulous dared to traverse the night, he was alone outside as well; the only stimulus he would be receiving was that of the chilled air kissing his nose. Still, it was probably for the best as Teruhime Yasūra had been a distraction he was forced to twist to his advantage. He could have killed her easily but that would have drawn too much attention, and already she had signaled him out in public. So now he here he was, a day behind his nonexistent schedule after having been forced to lay low in the bar. He stopped in his tracks.  
Four figures of purple energy stepped before him with hands on their weapons. They had suddenly appeared from beyond his peripheral and then, just as quickly, they vanished into thin air. Yat-sen knew immediately what he had seen - it was a warning. His semblance was peculiar like that. Normally he had control over it but every once in a while, it would trigger on its own as if some being of destiny watched over him. He smirked once the figures had disappeared and began walking again – if only briefly. Yat-sen only made it a few extra feet before a name was called from the shadowed alleyway to his right.  
“I don’t go by that name anymore. It’s _Yat-sen Opaline_ now,” he answered. Then just as his semblance had predicted, four men exited the alleyway carrying weapons only this time they were not auric apparitions. To a passerby they looked like regular street thugs and in a sense they were but, from the way they identified him, Yat-sen knew who hired them – it was the reason he wanted out of Vale. “I sorely hope she didn’t send you here to kill me? Not after what happened to the last group of minions…” His eyes flicked across each of the four men – he was sizing their worth and was unimpressed.  
“The master wants you back, not dead.“ One of the center thugs stepped forward; unlike the others, the mask he wore was pulled down from his mouth to clear his voice. Yat-sen wasn’t surprised, in all fairness he hadn’t asked the last group, but he also had no intentions of returning to his former “employer”.  
“ _I already told her:_ I’m done with fighting in her _little_ shadow war.”  
“We both know that’s not how it works. She has plans for you, she has plans for all of us, and right now she wants you back in her service. Don’t make this difficult, it will only anger her.” He’s certainly a loyal follower, Yat-sen thought to himself, but clearly not high up on the food chain. If Yat-sen was not so truely concerned by her power, he would almost believe these thugs’ master was just toying with him. But she was far too dour of a woman for that.  
“Eh, she’s already angry… No point in stopping now,” Yat-sen was done talking. With a flick of his hand the strap detached from his guitar and then with another flick the instrument began to shift: the neck separated the from the body, the six strings combined into a solid cable, and the body condensed more into a cylindrical shape with spikes protruding from its form. Where once Yat-sen held a guitar, he now held a two-handed flail, and in the second it took to transform his adversaries drew their own weapons. Yat-sen’s plan was simple: he would take them out one by one while disabling the others to effectively make each fight a one-on-one. Confident in his plan, Yat-sen quickly took the initiative to attack the axe wielding minion on the left – he would be the first disabled. The once guitar player used his semblance to foresee the enemy’s attack – a simple horizontal swing – and duck under the it while using his flail’s cable to pull the axe man’s feet out from under him. With the first thug prone, Yat-sen jumped on his chest to knock the wind out of him and then turned to face the other three. Besides their leader they look surprised, almost as if they had believed he would simply surrender himself to them – such foolishness. One of the thugs, a smaller man who wore a bandanna over his head and another over his mouth, charged him with a dagger clearly replacing his shock with anger. The attack was unsteady and simple enough to avoid; Yat-sen side stepped the dagger allowing the thug to run past him before being kicked atop his friend – the leader cursed at the other’s ineptness. Two disabled. The last two in front advanced with their swords at the ready but now was not the time to engage to with them, instead Yat-sen put distance between himself and the four assailants so that they all remained in view – he could not foresee their actions if he could not actually see them.  
“Go get Fergus up,” the leader ordered to leave himself alone to subdue their master’s wayward follower. “Last chance, Yat-sen – come easy enough and I’m sure your punishment will be fair.” He took a few cautious steps forward with his sword raised. He knew the situation had escalated past a peaceful compliance and fully expected Yat-sen to continue resisting. The first hit from the mace head nearly knocked the blade from his hand, while the second was more easily withstood by tightening his grip. The leader was illuminated by the streetlamps and in part by the moon, he did not appear to be wearing armor though Yat-sen figured there could be reinforced leather underneath his traveling clothes – that or the man relied purely on his Aura. A purple auric sword cut harmlessly into Yat-sen’s shoulder before dissipating allowing him to dodge the real sword strike mere seconds later; now with an opening, Yat-sen performed a swipe and the spiked cylinder of his mechashifted instrument connected with the thug’s face causing him to stumble. The second hit sent him falling to the ground – sword scattering away.  
Patter of eager footsteps and the sharp point of a dagger in his side distracted Yat-sen from attacking the prone leader further. His own aura protected him from the hidden attack by whom he presumed was Fergus – _or maybe that was the other one?_ It did not matter. He turned to his opponent in time to block another stab then, having grabbed the wielding hand, Yat-sen kicked “Fergus” behind the knee, yanked the dagger from his hand, and plunged it into his side using gravity as an aid. Blood oozed from the wound and with a single choke the man died. Yat-sen was perplexed by the lack of aura – _why would she send someone like him?_ Turning back to the leader who was reaching for his sword, Yat-sen quickly denied him of the weapon by stomping on his extended hand. A yelp filled the otherwise quiet street and then so too did the sound of bashing – Yat-sen struck his former assailant’s head, and then again, and again, before long his aura shattered and his skin began to break, but still Yat-sen continued. The earlier yelp turned to scream as the head henchman’s skull began to fracture under the assault before finally Yat-sen ceased with the swinging – their leader was dead, his face completely caved in on itself. With the leader and “Fergus” dead that left only two others to remove and then he could be back on his way out of the kingdom.  
Axe wielder was finally back on his feet – breathing stabilized and any internal damage most likely healed. At some point he removed his mask, the garment now discarded on the ground, revealing a sneer in the dim lighting.  
“I don’t care what we were told, this guy’s a dead man!” the axe was hefted in some attempt at intimidation. His friend looked more concerned with the bodies of their dead partners than with Yat-sen.  
“Fergus, buddy, I don’t think this is worth it,” the thug’s words caused Yat-sen to look towards the body at his feet – the one previously mistaken for Fergus. “We should just go and regroup."  
“Fuck regrouping!”  
“He already took out the others, let’s just go!” Fergus’ grip tightened on the axe then softened and he nodded.  
_“We’ll be back!”_ Immediately the two surviving henchmen made a break for the alleyway they originally came from – its shadows disappearing their forms. Yat-sen was not going to let them get away, after all they already found him, they had already caused a ruckus, he might as well finish what has been started. That was his plan as he prepared to make chase before the screams.  
He had not moved but a foot before from within the dark alley the pained voices of the two he had planned to pursue echoed into the night. One of them had begged for a “wait” but was cutoff. There were no sounds of fighting, no shuffling of feet, just their brief cries before silence once again. Yat-sen knew what had happened – she had been watching the entire time – and he knew they would not be back.

Morning came and the city was awake once again, for some the day was ruined upon finding their street dirtied by four corpses, but that was not Yat-sen’s concern. Instead he rested in a horseless wagon, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. The vehicle was an old model for sure but having missed the only train to Vacuo, hitching a ride with a trade caravan was the only other option as he wasn’t going to walk across Sanus.  
Yat-sen was not alone in the wagon though the other occupants had thus far remained quiet. Across from him a huntsman who looked still fresh from the academy sat with their gun resting in their lap. Then next to him were the caravan’s two most recent additions: the woman was definitely a faunus and the man could have been, but the pair arrived last minute and convinced the head merchant to hire them as guards. Four guards for three wagons, five civilians, and a wilderness full of danger…


End file.
